by Sonia Parin
Miffi nodded. “Kelly Pierce. She wanted me to do some adjustments. Apparently, she’s been so run off her feet organizing the ball she’s lost weight.”
“Is she Charles Granger’s assistant?”
“The one and only.”
Abby had planned on swinging by Willoughby Park to snoop around. If she bumped into Kelly Pierce, she could fish around for information about the guest list…
Miffi led her straight through to the back room and pointed toward the mannequin.
Abby came to an abrupt halt. “Is that… Is that my dress?” Abby felt and sounded awestruck.
“It is.”
Miffi had certainly lived up to her reputation. “It looks so different.”
“Go on. Try it on.” Miffi reached for her pack of cigarettes. Finding it empty, she excused herself and went in search for a new pack.
Abby ran her fingertips along the sheer fabric covering the little black dress. The gown she’d admired the day before hang on a rack next to it. Comparing the two dresses, Abby smiled. Miffi had given her dress a complete overhaul, turning it into a work of art.
She heard Miffi talking to herself. Drawers opening and closing…
A few minutes later, Miffi returned and found Abby still standing in front of her dress. She turned and saw Miffi adjusting the cigarette in place. When she lit it, she tipped her head back and blew out the smoke.
While excited about trying on the gown, Abby couldn’t help wondering about smoking in a room full of delicate fabrics. Without asking, she knew Miffi smoked a French brand; quite strong and pungent. “Don’t you worry about smoke getting into the fabric?”
“Old habits die hard,” Miffi said as Abby went behind a screen and scrambled out of her clothes. “Everyone smokes in Europe. I’m too set in my ways to change now.”
Abby scooped in a breath and hoped the pancakes she’d indulged in hadn’t added any extra weight. The moment she slipped into the dress, she felt her eyes brighten. Standing on her toes, she strode out.
“How on earth did you get it to cascade like this.” When Abby swayed from side to side, the fabric moved right along with her.
“It’s a silk tulle.”
Abby turned toward a mirror. Her old cocktail dress had been completely revamped and revitalized with a new see-through sheath cascading over it. “It’s… It’s like a Grecian column. I love it.”
“It’s my take on an Empire style. It was the height of fashion in the 1800s.” Humming, Miffi added, “You should wear your hair up.”
“I wish I could. My hair is too straight to stay in place. I end up with spikes poking out.”
At Miffi’s signal, Abby turned and Miffi made a few adjustments making sure the dress sat perfectly.
“Stretch your arms out. How does that feel? Does it pull anywhere?”
“No. It’s perfect.”
Stepping back, Miffi tilted her head from side to side. “Well, you’re all set for the ball, Cinderella.”
Chapter Three
SO FAR, SO GOOD, ABBY thought. Everything had fallen into place. She’d had the foresight to call Sebastian Cavendish and ask for advice. Since she’d never before attended such a swanky event, she wanted to avoid putting a foot wrong, so in his opinion, would it be better to arrive early or fashionably late?
After he’d told her he planned on leaving in ten minutes, Abby had scurried out of her apartment and driven straight to Willoughby Park so she could arrive at the same time as Sebastian and contrive a way to bump into him without being too obvious about it.
She’d sat in her car, keeping an eye out for his black SUV. When she’d spotted it, she’d gathered Doyle in her arms and had made her way toward him. He took his time coming out of his car, so Abby set Doyle down and adjusted his little tuxedo. Peering up, she saw Sebastian finally making a move, so she straightened and strode the rest of the way, stopping at the last minute as if surprised.
Doyle’s tail thumped against her leg and she imagined him congratulating her on her good timing.
“That worked out well,” Sebastian said as he emerged from his shiny car. “I should have offered you a lift.”
“Oh, that’s fine. I have Doyle with me. Not everyone is comfortable having a dog in their car.”
“I would have been fine with it.”
A head taller than the average man, he looked quite imposing in his tuxedo, and handsome, Abby thought. In his mid-thirties, the man sat at the helm of a large corporation and owned a major newspaper but would have been right at home on a billboard in Times Square advertising an exclusive brand and selling it with nothing more than the slight lift of his lips and his magnetic chiseled features.
“You look splendid,” he drawled.
“Thank you.” They had a working relationship and she took the compliment as nothing more than a social nicety.
“Shall we?” he gave her his arm.
Oh, yes. She could not have scripted it better. Doyle put his nose in the air and trotted beside her. His initial grumbling had been expected but he now appeared to be enjoying his new tuxedo jacket.
Faith had been right to be excited about the evening. The driveway into Willoughby Park had been turned into a magical thoroughfare with sparkling fairy lights lighting the way. The clouds that had been hovering around all day had cleared up, making way for a spectacular night sky full of bright stars.
While the evening air felt crisp, the thrill of the moment made Abby forget she wore a sleeveless dress. She’d had to make some last-minute repairs to her heels, covering up the scuff marks with the only thing she had available. The black marker had done the trick with the long dress hopefully covering anything she might have missed.
They joined the other guests making their way to the imposing porticoed entrance.
Abby fell silent for a moment. She’d always tried to keep her finger on the pulse; staying abreast of current affairs, the news, celebrity gossip and anything that might or might not come in useful. She’d been known to go through stacks of magazines, simply looking at photos of glamorous soirees and events attended only by the privileged few. Strangely, she’d never felt pangs of envy or even wondered what it might all be like.
Catching sight of the Chinese lanterns swaying gently in the evening breeze, she decided the ball might actually give her a taste of the grand life or at least a glimpse of how the other one percent lived.
Abby could barely keep the surprise from her voice when she said, “Oh, look. Charles Granger hired footmen.” Dressed in royal blue and gold livery and donning white wigs. It made her think of the balls in her favorite regency novels. That thought led her to remember there were always receiving lines, with the host and various members of their family welcoming their guests.
Moment of truth, Abby thought and felt a rush of heat splash on her cheeks. While she’d planned on making her entrance with Sebastian by her side, she’d hoped to then fly under the radar and lose herself in the mixing and mingling part of the event.
If Charles Granger had made a point of ‘not’ inviting her, how would he react when he saw her?
When she’d trekked out to Willoughby Park the day before, she hadn’t seen Charles so she hadn’t had the opportunity to ask him about the invitation. His assistant, Kelly Pierce, had been too busy to allocate any time for an interview, but she’d given Abby the run of the place so she could take as many photographs as she wanted. She hadn’t mentioned seeing Abby arriving at Miffi’s house, so Abby hadn’t mentioned the encounter either.
The estate had been a hive of activity with workmen putting the finishing touches to the grounds and all the waiting staff attending to every detail inside the house. A live band had been tuning their instruments and doing a last-minute rehearsal. With so much happening, no one had paid any attention to Abby.
Sebastian adjusted his bow tie. “The last time I had to queue up to get in somewhere was at the Met Gala.”
Abby laughed. “The Met Gala? Oh, you mean the event the rest of us get to read about beca
use it’s only attended by A-listers and society’s crème de la crème? The Super Bowl of fashion…” Reportedly costing $30,000 for a ticket, Abby thought, knowing the guest list always included the world’s best achievers in all the spheres of music, film, Broadway and fashion, as well as supernova personalities.
Sebastian chuckled under his breath. “Did I sound pompous?”
“I’m sure you didn’t mean to.” Abby drew in a breath. What if she had to produce an invitation? Or worse… What if someone pulled her aside and, none too discreetly, told her there seemed to be some sort of mistake because her name didn’t appear to be on the guest list?
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sebastian slip his hand inside his coat pocket. Clearly, her scheme had a plot hole. “Oh, dear,” the words trembled out of her mouth.
“Is something wrong?” Sebastian asked.
Abby cleared her throat and whispered, “I… I don’t have my invitation.” Abby silently laughed. She didn’t have one…full stop.
The couple in front of them moved forward. Abby thought she might have a few more minutes to come up with a game plan, but the line moved and suddenly they were next.
They were greeted by a man in coattails. “Good evening and welcome to Willoughby Park.” He looked at Abby and quirked an eyebrow up.
Reading the gesture as a prompt, Abby swallowed and blurted out, “I… I don’t have an invitation.”
***
“WHEN ABBY SAID SHE DIDN’T have an invitation,” Sebastian drawled out, “Doyle took a step back and sidled over to sit next to me as if to say she was on her own.”
Everyone in the group burst out laughing. Abby managed to find the humor in the story and gave a nervous chuckle as she said, “Thankfully, Sebastian came to my rescue saying I was his plus one, which put Doyle in a perilous position. Would you believe it, the butler looked down at him as if to ask, so who are you with?”
Abby breathed a sigh of relief. It had been a close call. She had meant to play it cool, calm and collect by suggesting she had forgotten her invitation, but her conscience had intervened at the worst possible moment, weighing her words with the sense of guilt she felt at gate-crashing the event. To make matters worse, as she’d made her forced admission, everyone around her had fallen silent, giving her words even more significance.
“Champagne,” a waiter offered.
“Oh, yes please. Thank you.” Abby took a sip and tried to discreetly adjust the Venetian mask she’d been issued with. Everyone wore one, which made identifying people somewhat difficult.
Sebastian had led her toward the group she stood with and had introduced everyone to her but she’d still been trying to calm her thumping heart so she’d missed most of the names. She only remembered they were all local landowning cattlemen and their wives.
Excusing herself, Abby set off on a tour of discovery. The day before, she’d seen the ballroom with its polished parquet floor, sparkling chandeliers, French doors, and the massive fireplace. With all the guests milling about, chatting, laughing, and looking resplendent, the place had come alive.
“Stick close to me, Doyle. You don’t want anyone stepping on your paws.”
From a distance, she spotted a familiar face. Even though she wore a Venetian mask, there could be no mistaking Joyce Breeland’s presence. The woman lived and breathed a bigger than life personality. She wore a replica of Audrey Hepburn’s Breakfast at Tiffany’s black dress and managed to pull it off with admirable elegance. She’d even found the perfect accessory using a long cigarette holder to gesture.
Mitch Faydon stood in the group, and she only recognized him by his easy manner. The way he had his hand inside his pocket, she’d swear the man had been born to wear a tuxedo. The woman with her arm wrapped around his had to be his girlfriend, Elizabeth.
As Abby’s gaze skated across the ballroom, she saw locals she recognized from the café, but again, only because she recognized particular traits.
A light melody played in the background. Abby thought she recognized the composer but couldn’t think of his name.
As she turned, she smiled politely. Doyle’s tail flapped against her leg. Bringing him along had been a good decision, Abby thought catching a few admiring glances thrown his way. When she spotted Faith, she began moving toward her only to nearly collide with a woman.
Instant recognition hit her.
Kelly Pierce. Charles’ assistant.
Seeing her, the woman’s eyes widened slightly. Then her smile wavered and her eyebrows drew down.
Abby didn’t want to read too much into the swift change but if she had to guess, she’d say Kelly Pierce had, at first, been surprised to see Abby and then… somewhat displeased to find her at the ball.
Chapter Four
“WHEN I SAW YOU, I WANTED to wave,” Faith said. Looking around her, she smiled. “But then I remembered my manners and lifted my chin and gave you a polite nod of acknowledgment. It wouldn’t do to call out a person’s name across the room.”
“Relax, Faith. You’re here to have fun. Charles would be the first to tell you so.”
“Did you know Charles Granger’s father is an English Duke. As in… A Duke. A Duke’s son lives among us. Right here in this out of the way town.”
“Yes, his father holds the title.” And Charles had been born the third son and didn’t have any titles because they’d all been bestowed upon his other two brothers. Such had always been the fate of the third son, Abby thought. A couple of hundred years before, he would have joined the clergy or taken up a profession. “You look amazing,” Abby said.
“As do you.” Faith giggled. “Did I say that right? This champagne is the real thing. I’ve already had two… maybe three glasses.” Faith leaned in and whispered, “It’s French. I’ve never had the good stuff before.”
“No, neither have I.” Abby took a small sip. She wished she could make the best of it, but she needed to keep her wits about her and not draw attention to herself.
“Did you think there would be so many people? I stopped counting at five hundred. I’m beginning to feel like a sardine.”
Great. The more the merrier, Abby thought. She figured it would be easy enough to blend in, especially since everyone had been required to wear black. If anyone decided to question her reason for being at the ball, she’d have to be creative or hope she could run in her heels.
“Everyone who is anyone is here and then, there’s the rest of us,” Faith continued. “I knew this would be a big event, but it has exceeded my expectations.”
Abby turned as discreetly as she could and tried to locate Kelly Pierce. She found her standing by the entrance to the ballroom, a tablet in hand. Was she looking through the guest list and double checking to see if Abby’s name cropped up?
Abby’s heart gave an alarming thump. Doyle must have picked up on her moment of panic and leaned against her. Abby smiled at his show of support and remembered only a few moments before the treacherous little rascal had been prepared to disown her.
Just as Kelly Pierce looked up and straight at Abby, a waiter strode by, blocking her from view with his tray full of canapes.
“That’s the third time he’s walked right past me,” Faith complained. “He keeps heading in the opposite direction. I need to re-position myself and find a more strategic spot or chase after him. By the time he makes the rounds, the tray is empty. I’d like to enjoy another glass of champagne, but I need to get some food inside me first. Back in a sec.”
Abby took another sip of her champagne, appreciating the subtle flavors. Everyone had been talking about the event for a month and would no doubt continue to do so for several months to come. She wouldn’t be surprised if the night became imbedded in the collective memory with elaborate stories embellished with each retelling.
The murmured conversations around Abby hitched up and filled with awed excitement. Thinking someone of note had made an entrance, Abby stood on tiptoes.
Just then, Faith returned, her mouth full of
canape. “She’s here.”
“She?”
“Marigold Winthrop. As I chased after the waiter, I caught snippets of people’s conversations. Her name is on everyone’s lips. Apparently, she’s just been issued with divorce papers. So, they were all wondering if she would attend tonight.”
“Is she well-known in the district?”
Faith snorted. “She’s only married to the wealthiest businessman around. In these parts, they’re considered landed gentry, but as they spend most of their time in the city, they’ve been labeled Melbourne Royalty.”
Abby clicked her fingers. Marigold. She remembered Miffi Howsen mentioning her. Abby craned her neck to see if she could catch a glimpse of her.
“I’ve only ever seen photos of her in magazines but I wouldn’t recognize her if she crossed paths with me. Photos tend to make people look different,” Faith said. “Everyone appears to be looking toward that corner.” Faith steered Abby, turning her slightly in the direction she’d pointed.
“Miffi Howsen made her dress,” Abby offered.
“How do you know?” Faith asked. “From what I heard, Miffi didn’t want to make anyone’s dress.”
“Well, I have it on good authority. It has a silver clasp on one shoulder,” Abby said.
Faith gave a dreamy sigh. “You saw her dress? It must be beautiful.”
“Did I say that?”
“Yes, you did.”
“Oh, all right. Yes, I saw the dress.”
“Hang on. If you saw the dress, then… you must have gone to Miffi’s.” Faith stepped back and gave Abby’s dress a head to toe sweep. “Is that where your dress came from?”
Abby smiled.
“But… But Miffi said…” Faith lifted her chin. “Well, I’m cross with her. Of course, I’m happy for you, but the rest of us had to settle for off the rack dresses. Consider yourself lucky.”
Oh, she did.
Faith sniffed.
“Are you smelling me?” Abby asked.
“Have you been smoking?” Faith got closer and sniffed her again. “I smell cigarettes on you.”